


All My Tomorrows

by summerofspock



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eldritch Angels, M/M, Reincarnation, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 07:55:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19127809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock
Summary: Aziraphale was meant to spread harmony, a purpose he could not fulfill in his terrifying angelic form. When Heaven's attempts to create a corporeal form failed, he was born into the world like any human, only realizing his power and purpose when Heaven Called.Then, like any human, he died. And then was born again. And again. And again.OREvery generation Heaven and Hell each selected a child to be the Vessel and when the time came that the angel or the demon was needed, they were Called.





	All My Tomorrows

**Author's Note:**

> i will admit that this is straight up SAD in places  
> Also, if you're sensitive to issues of gender or potential dysphoria please read the warnings at the end, i wasn't sure how to tag it

 In the beginning of time, the Garden of Eden was created. It was the most beautiful garden the world would ever see.

Aziraphale floated along the wall at the edge of the Garden, overlooking the foliage and feeling at peace. It had been so long in heaven with nothing at all interesting to do and then God had come and done _It_ , created it all.

A serpentine black cloud slithered up the wall, settling beside him before stretching it’s crow wings and opening its yellow eyes. “They ate the apple.”

Aziraphale—not to be outdone—extended his own silver and gold wings. “Only because you tempted them into it.

“Hello, demon here! It’s in the job description,” the smoky cloud said, “Didn’t you have a flaming sword? For the smiting and all?”

Aziraphale closed his glowing form's dozen eyes and sighed.

“Name’s Crawly by the way. Who are you?”

“Aziraphale,” he said politely. It was a bit strange, conversing with a demon. Though he supposed this Crawly was an angel once.

“A bit exciting don’t you think?”

“What?”

“The beginning of the world! The advent of sin!”

“I”m not exactly interested in the advent of sin.”

“Your losssss,” Crawly said on a hiss.

“I’m not sure we should talk anymore,” Aziraphale said, feeling ruffled.

The shadow—Crawly—gave off airs of disinterest and fell silent.

**

“I’m trying to help you!” Aziraphale called after the woman who ran away from him screaming. It was so hard to do his job when humans were absolutely terrified of him. He had tried to compress his essence into a more human shape but that apparently only made it worse, all the iridescent eyes rubbing together.

He floated despondently to the top of a building and made himself invisible. So much time had passed since the Garden and he felt dreadfully ineffective. Surveying the city of Babylon, he gave himself a moment to engage in a little bit of self pity, but was distracted when he saw a black shadow manifest behind a stone and slip into the city.

“Crawly!” he called down and the shadow looked up.

“Aziraphale,” it said, sounding abysmally cool.

Several more humans ran from the city screaming.

The shadow climbed up the side of the building and settled next to him like a coiled snake. “Having trouble with the Babylonians?”

“No,” Aziraphale said in a huff.

“I just saw that lady run off,” Crawly pointed out and Aziraphale could feel his laughter. Aziraphale did _not_ like being laughed at.

“It’s not your fault,” Crawly continued, “The dozen eyes really are quite frightening. Any luck up Above trying to fix that?”

“Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell _you_ ,” Aziraphale said. There had been absolutely no luck fixing it. He’d filed several complaints.

Crawly began to speak but Aziraphale had had enough. “Leave me alone, you foul thing,” he spat before reaching out his essence to erase Crawly’s. It should have burned the demon out of existence but it only gave Aziraphale a slight tingle in his lower eyes. Then Crawly was _actually_ laughing at him.

“You can’t kill me, angel,” the demon said, somehow guffawing even in his lack of form.

Aziraphale growled in frustration and flew off to observe the Babylonians from a distance.

**

The first time Aziraphale was put into a body it went something like this:

The flesh was soft and yielding and very _warm_ and when he approached humans they only smiled at him mildly. He had such success on his first three missions that he decided he never wanted to be in his ethereal form again.

He loved experiencing Earth like this. Being treated with kindness at every turn, reaching out a hand to help the needy, using power the way he was supposed to.

It was in the first two years of being corporeal that Aziraphale discovered food and the way a body could feel _content_. It was very nice, being almost human.

Aziraphale was drinking tea in a little shop in the Mesopotamian Valley when the demon walked in. His whole body lit up in warning, whatever star stuff he was made of crying out in the presence of evil.

“Crawly,” Aziraphale said politely—if dismissively—in greeting. He had felt bad for nearly a century after trying to kill the demon and he felt he should at least _try_ to make it up to him even if it had been nearly a thousand years.

“It’s Crowley now. I’m crawling a bit less these days,” the demon said, indicating his legs when he sat down next to him. Even in a human form, Crowley's eyes still flashed yellow in the light filtering through the windows of the tea shop, making his brown skin look darker.

“Tea? They have lovely honey here,” Aziraphale said, unable to contain the excitement he felt at the prospect of sharing this little corner of the Earth with another immortal being. Did Crowley love it here as much as he did? Had he tried bread and cheese and fish?

In that moment Aziraphale realized he had been lonely. There really was very little opportunity for company when you were immortal. Humans died so _fast_.

Instead of scoffing, like Aziraphale thought he would, the demon gestured to the server. “So they worked out the whole having a body thing in heaven too?”

Aziraphale hummed into his tea. “It’s quite nice. How long have you been here?”

“A week. You?”

“About the same,” Aziraphale said, a blatant lie. “Food is very good, isn’t it?”

Crowley shrugs. “I’m partial to the wine.”

“Wine? I haven’t had that yet,” Aziraphale said, the potential of a new experience jolting through him like a lightning strike.

Crowley grinned at him, his cheekbones look sharper under his dark skin. “Have I got a treat for you.”

Unfortunately they never made it to their next destination, a storm in the desert proving that these newfound corporations disintegrated in the rain.

Frustrated, the archangel Gabriel had sent him back to Earth in another prototype of a human body.

That one couldn’t breathe in the atmosphere and Aziraphale choked to death in the first ten minutes.

Aziraphale spent the next sixty years in heaven, only being sent down for emergencies in corporations that fell apart too quickly for him to be of any real use.

Crowley and he had run into each other in Bethlehem where Aziraphale was staunchly waiting inside an inn for a girl named Mary. Crowley marched up to him and deposited a carafe of wine in front of him.

“Drink,” he demanded.

“Oh, I shouldn’t, I’m on call,” Aziraphale said, waving it away. This corporation was a young woman with small hands and nails he could never keep clean. Aziraphale was working as a serving girl in the inn, a cover for the short time he would be on Earth.

“You can always use a little miracle to sober yourself up. I owe you a drink, angel. So drink,” Crowley said again. The demon’s corporation was a thick-thighed woman with a pock-marked face that shined brightly when he smiled. Regardless, his yellow eyes gave him away and he seemed to keep them squinted to hide their strangeness from the laypeople.

Aziraphale picked up the cup hesitantly and drank. Crowley grinned at him wickedly making Aziraphale feel dizzy. Or maybe that was the wine.

Many drinks and stories later, Crowley left for his own assignment and Aziraphale focused on sobering up. To his distress, the angel had realized that Crowley was _fun_. How absolutely vexing.

Later that night, after Aziraphale had convinced the owner of the inn to allow Mary to stay in the barn with her husband, he was recalled abruptly. His corporation hadn’t even disintegrated yet!

“We’ve got a better plan,” Gabriel declared and then Aziraphale didn’t remember anything for awhile.

**

Twenty-five years later Aziraphale came back to consciousness in a warm body that didn’t hurt, full of food and ale and feeling extremely happy. As his vision unblurred, Aziraphale adjusted to his new body—and his new memories of _life_ as Azzan— and the man he was drinking with looked at him with concern. His name was Caleb, Aziraphale reminded himself. They’d known each other since their youth.

Caleb was the lighthearted one, always bringing Azzan out of his frequent moments of distress with jokes and the occasional wild scheme. They had fun together. Neither were keen to get married, no matter what their mothers said. They felt too young to have families.

And if Azzan harbored some rather, erm, lustful feelings for his friend, Caleb didn’t need to know.

“Are you ill?” Caleb asked, eyebrows drawn together.

Azzan—No, Aziraphale—took a breath as he was flooded with a certainty that he needed to be somewhere at dawn. A hill outside of the city. Azzan’s memories provided context: the hill where they crucified prisoners. “No. I’m well. Another round of drinks?” he said, hoping the drink would steady him. He remembered how it felt, drinking wine with Crowley that one night in Bethlehem. In that moment, he missed the demon acutely, wishing someone was there who would understand.

He shook the feeling away. He had things to do.

Caleb nodded and went to retrieve more alcohol. Aziraphale scratched his nails across the surface of the wooden table, trying to piece everything together. He’d lived as Azzan for twenty-five years, from birth to adulthood and he could still feel his body aging molecule by molecule. He would die in this body.

He was _human._

Caleb returned, eyes twinkling and Aziraphale recognized the expression, it was one Azzan knew meant trouble. Before he could take the cups from Caleb, he dropped them and swayed on his feet. Aziraphale jumped up, the lifetime of affection between them seeding a deep worry at the possibility that Caleb might faint. Was that Azzan’s worry or Aziraphale’s worry?

The angel couldn’t tell and he wasn’t sure if it mattered.

As Azzan gripped Caleb’s arms, his friend looked up at him with yellow eyes that Aziraphale immediately recognized, his heavenly hackles raising.

“What the FUCK?” Crowley said, grabbing the table in front of him. Aziraphale felt like he was seeing double and put his head into his hands.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley asked, the words spilling from Caleb’s mouth, making Aziraphale even more confused. Who was he? Angel Aziraphale. Who had he been? Azzan. Where was he?

“Crowley?”

“This is strange,” the demon said, rubbing at his forehead.

“I think we’re real, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. He poked at his forearm and he felt the sensation in a way he never had in the heaven-made bodies. “Human.”

Crowley groaned like he was going to be sick. “It hurts.”

“Maybe we’ll get used to it,” Aziraphale said, trying to sound more hopeful then he felt.

**

In 200 AD, Aziraphale awoke as Mingxia, a 36 year old Chinese woman. He tried to figure out his assignment, his reason for being Called, but nothing was forthcoming. He took several hours to get a handle on his memories, organizing the memories from previous corporations into this one. Azzan, Hester, Prathamesh. They had lived full lives and Aziraphale remembered everything, even his existence from before when he was ethereal and terrifying. When he’d been Called as Hester, he’d made the mistake of going right into his assignment and he had promptly passed out in the street after leaving Hester’s house.

Crowley had discovered him there—why was the demon always _there_?—and dragged him into an alley. “You have to wait to adjust, angel. If you don’t, you’ll get yourself killed,” he hissed before leaving Hester in a heap against a tavern.

Mingxia was to meet her friend—well, “friend”—in the evening so Aziraphale got himself ready and left Mingxia’s house. Daiyu welcomed Aziraphale into her home and the minute the door was shut, Daiyu kissed him.

“I missed you, love,” Daiyu whispered into his mouth and Aziraphale floundered, returning the kiss as he rifled through memories to try and remember the right thing to do.

It turned out that Daiyu knew exactly what she was doing and several hours later, they were laid out on the ground, Daiyu tracing shapes into Aziraphale’s skin. “I wish we could be together always,” Daiyu said quietly, her eyes glittering with tears. “It never feels like enough. These afternoons. I want to go with you out into the world. There are so many things I want to do with you in the daylight.”

Aziraphale’s heart hurt. He could feel Mingxia’s deep love for Daiyu. Mingxia’s memories were his memories and Mingxia’s love was his love. It was hard to reconcile the emotions when he was Called. He had realized during his last Calling that it was useless to fight his corporation’s past. To make sure Mingxia’s—his—heart didn’t break, he said, “I’m sorry, my dear. It’s only you. It will only ever be you.”

Daiyu squeezed his hand and nodded. They dozed the rest of the afternoon away and when Aziraphale woke he saw Daiyu staring down at him with yellow eyes.

“You!” Aziraphale said, scrambling until his back was against the wall. He tried to cover up his nudity even though he knew it didn’t matter. They had just made love and Daiyu—Crowley—knew this body even if it was only in memory.

Crowley held up his hands. “It’s not my fault, I swear.”

Aziraphale grabbed his clothes and tugged them on, his straight black hair getting caught in one of the fasteners. He struggled with the threads until Crowley batted his hands away and untangled them. Aziraphale looked up at the demon with a scowl. “Thank you.”

Aziraphale was struck with the knowledge that he needed to get to the palace within 24 hours and meet with a man who he would convince to marry his mistress.

“You get your assignment?” Crowley asked. The demon was far too perceptive.

Aziraphale sniffed. “I did. I’ll be going then.”

The angel straightened his clothes and went to leave the house.

He ignored Crowley when he said, “See you around I guess.”

If he didn’t know better, Crowley sounded almost despondent.

**

In the year 826 AD, Aziraphale was recalled to heaven for the first time that millennia.

Gabriel was waiting for him.

“How has the new process been going?” he asked, his angelic form glowing purple. Aziraphale had forgotten how bright Gabriel was.

“Much better,” Aziraphale admitted. “Humans are much more friendly when you look like them.”

Gabriel hummed in agreement. “Good to hear. And the memory thing? That’s working out? We were worried it might make humans go mad, but you seem to be managing.”

Aziraphale tried to choose the right words. The overlapping memory thing was awful but he wasn’t about to say that to his _boss_. “It takes a bit but once I remember everything from my previous corporations and even before, I can adjust. It’s easiest to just sort of...fit the angel business into my—their existing lives.”

Gabriel’s manifestation emitted a frequency that Aziraphale recognized as understanding. “Thank you for the report. I’ll send you back now.”

“Wait!” Aziraphale cried and Gabriel paused. “Do you have to keep sending me to Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, a little desperate to get a break from the demon. He had just been recalled from his last assignment as a woman who was Crowley’s wife _._ They’d been Called as married couples _six times_ and the demon’s constant companionship was breeding...confusing feelings.

“Crowley?” Gabriel asked.

“The demon? Hell’s envoy?”

“Ah yes,” Gabriel said and then Aziraphale got the distinct impression the archangel was confused. “We haven’t been sending you to Crowley. Have you been running into him?”

Aziraphale burned in embarrassment. He absolutely did _not_ want to discuss how often he and Crowley were Called, only to discover they were best friends and, more often than not, lovers.

“Yes, erm, sometimes,” Aziraphale said. He regretted bringing up the subject.

Fifteen years later Aziraphale awoke in the body of Arusi, a female in Kenya. Crowley was nowhere to be found and for the next twenty years of his life as Arusi, Aziraphale never ran into the demon.

After that he was Ned who was having a love affair with Peter who ended up being Crowley. The demon was Called six weeks after Aziraphale and the angel had recognized bits of the demon in Peter before he was even Called. He was beginning to have a sneaking suspicion that this whole Calling thing was more along the lines of reincarnation and he began to wonder what that meant for him and Crowley. What it meant that they always came together. The demon left on a mission the next day and Aziraphale never saw him again during that lifetime.

Next, Aziraphale was Called as 12 year old Aoife in Ireland and met Crowley 10 years later as Caley. The young man had been wooing Aoife for weeks before the demon had been Called and Crowley acted very embarrassed about the whole ordeal.

And so it went, they rarely went more than one incarnation without running into each other and Aziraphale began to realize that he _missed_ Crowley when he wasn’t around. That when Crowley was there Earth was brighter, less painful. So even when they weren’t Called together, Aziraphale made a point to track down the demon during every lifetime so they could at least share dinner and a few of their more ridiculous stories. Stories no one else would ever understand.

**

Some time in the 15th century, Ezra and Corinne were desperately in love. So in love that they defied their families, ran off to rural Germany and settled into a one room house where they could be together.

When Corinne missed her second cycle, she told Ezra of their upcoming parenthood with excitement. They had been trying for a year and it had finally happened.

Ezra’s eyes shone with joy before he pulled Corinne into a deep kiss, laying her down onto the bed with him and moaning when he found his way inside of her. They moved together, as passionate as ever, if not more so, and when Ezra felt his orgasm begin, the world twisted off its axis. The room spun and he looked down at his wife with new eyes.

She was smiling up at him blissfully. Ezra collapsed next to her, mouth agape. He wasn’t Ezra, he was Aziraphale, an angel, and he had to go save a woman named Annika two towns over. When he looked at Corinne he felt a wave of guilt, the universe’s needs against the love he felt for this one woman. Perhaps, if she loved him, she would understand. And it wasn’t as if he was leaving _forever_.

The angel tried to find the words to explain but when he looked at Corinne’s face, her eyes slid shut and when they opened he was greeted with bright yellow irises and serpentine pupils.

Corinne—Crowley—and Aziraphale stared at each other. Crowley broke the silence. “Am I pregnant?” he asked incredulously as he put his hand to his stomach.

Aziraphale nodded numbly, trying to assimilate the memories of Crowley, the demon, with the memories of his wife, Corinne. After nearly a thousand years of this, Aziraphale knew that the personality they had when they were Called was not so different than the personality they had in human form, that a lifetime sleeping in a human's body didn't mean he wasn't there, growing with them, influencing their tastes and interests. Aziraphale knew that all his own corporations had a fondness for learning and books and good food. So did he. Crowley pretended to be cool and unfeeling but was typically anxious and excitable. Just like Corinne. 

“You are,” he said quietly. “Are you going...what are you going to do about it?”

The thought of Crowley miracling away the baby made his stomach hurt, but it wasn’t his choice. Crowley didn’t respond instead he asked, “Is your assignment time sensitive?”

Aziraphale nodded, the woman needed to be saved later that day. Crowley hummed, laying back on the pillow of their slim sleeping pad. “Mine isn’t. You can go first. I’ll be here. We can talk. But first, I’m making the place nicer.”

And that was the Crowley Aziraphale knew so well. He was fond of his creature comforts. Instead of sticking around for the show of miracles, Aziraphale used his powers to pull himself through the fabric of space, manifesting in the forest outside of Annika’s village.

As he wandered into the ramshackle place, he thought back to the last time he and Crowley had been Called at the same time. It had been some time during the Crusades. He had been Called while in the body of a knight—Percival—and Crowley had been a monk—Victor. They had run into each other on a mission. It had all been very professional.

Or it would have been if Aziraphale could forget that the last time they had Called had been as a married couple with three children in Japan. It had been such a trial to manage their assignment and take care of Hiroshi, Kyoko, and Jiro. It had been a trial to manage his love for his children and ultimately his love for his husband, Kenichi. His husband, Crowley.

After a grateful Annika thanked Aziraphale for saving her from the collapsing house with a tearful kiss on the cheek, the angel pulled himself back to the cottage for the inevitable conversation with Crowley.

The demon was lounging on a rather opulent bed, scrubbed clean in a way that could only have been managed via miracle. Crowley scrunched up his nose when Aziraphale appeared in the one room cottage. “You smell. Can’t you clean yourself up?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes but used a pinch of power to rid himself of accumulated filth. “Better?”

“Much,” Crowley said scooting so Aziraphale could take a seat. There wasn’t much room in the cottage and now it was mostly bed.

“So...what do I look like this time?” Aziraphale asked. He could feel that his body was strong, most likely from manual labor. Stocky and muscled and only slightly taller than Corinne’s willowy frame. None of Ezra’s stronger memories included looking at his own face. Aziraphale knew they would come with time, but he would rather know as soon as possible.

Crowley looked him over. “Handsome face, terrible haircut—brown—with green eyes, nose broken at least once. Kind of big ears.”

Aziraphale’s hands went up to his ears. Sure enough they stuck out a little.

“Me?” Crowley asked gesturing down. “Clearly a girl.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Yes a girl. Erm, skinny. Long, sharp nose. Curly black hair.”

“Am I pretty?” Crowley asked, blinking at him like a sleepy cat.

Aziraphale nodded, the lust Ezra had always felt for Corinne rising in him. He pushed it away. That part of their life was over.

“Yes,” he said shortly and Crowley hummed in delight.

“It’s always easier when the bodies are pretty.”

Aziraphale resisted the urge to say something biting. He knew it was harder to live when you were Called in a woman’s body. He’d been in a female body in Japan. They were silent for a moment, both lost in memories. It was always difficult—the Calling. Millennia worth of memories flooding the body, trying to find their place amongst the newest ones.

“So...the baby?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley plucked at the blanket. “If I keep it, will you, erm, help me with it?”

Aziraphale stared at the demon, hoping that by sheer force of will he could read Crowley’s mind. “Of course I will help you with it. We can have an arrangement. Like in Japan. I’ll stay here with the baby when you’re on a mission and vice versa.”

Crowley nodded. “Like in Japan,” he echoed.

And so Aziraphale was stuck with the whims of his pregnant wife who was also his arch enemy and whom he loved dearly which he had in this life and all the ones since the crucifixion. Not that Crowley needed to know.

Before Corinne began to show, Crowley went off to London on a mission and returned with stories of plays and poetry which he shared with Aziraphale in Corinne’s soft voice late into the night.

And Aziraphale fell even more in love.

When Corinne’s body grew heavier with pregnancy, Aziraphale found himself taking on more of Crowley’s missions, doing the tempting and the leading astray as much as he performed miracles and seeded hope. It was all part of the arrangement they had when they already had children to care for and Aziraphale didn’t mind as long as it kept his family safe.

As Ezra and Corinne, Aziraphale helped Crowley through the worst of pregnancy and miracled away the pain of labor when he gave birth to a baby boy they named Walter.

Walter grew up looking more like Ezra than Corinne and took work as the smith in the village over where he married a nice young woman named Agatha.

Aziraphale and Crowley spent the rest of their years traveling about on missions and taking care of Walter until they were also taking care of grandchildren and when Crowley was taken ill, Aziraphale struggled to control his grief.

Miracles could only go so far as the human body aged and Crowley’s body could not be healed. Aziraphale held his hand as he died and whispered “I love you,” after the Corinne’s eyes closed for the last time.

When Aziraphale’s body failed the following winter, he was glad to know he was on his way to seeing Crowley again.

**

The lives where they were not together were the hardest. Aziraphale would be Called and then look at everyone he was with hoping for conspicuous glasses or pale eyes. In those lives, Aziraphale did his best to adhere to his mission and not seek out Crowley, wherever he might have been.

Sometimes, even if they were not Called together, they would find each other during the course of their work. So much about heaven and hell were two sides of the same coin and it was only inevitable that they would occasionally find themselves working directly against each other.

After Ezra and Corinne, they weren’t together for three centuries and six of Aziraphale’s corporations. And when Aziraphale tried to use his powers to find the demon, he never could. It was the longest they hadn’t seen each other in all of their reincarnations.

When Aziraphale awoke as Jane in the arms of a gentleman in 1814, he was once more disappointed when he saw no yellow eyes. Yet another life spent waiting. His relief came a week later, behind his parent’s mansion when he pulled away from the gentleman’s—Anthony’s—sudden kiss and saw his eyelids flutter open, revealing the eyes Aziraphale had been missing for centuries.

If Aziraphale’s heart beat faster upon recognizing Crowley, it nearly exploded when the demon pulled him into a desperate hug. “Aziraphale! I thought you were dead. I couldn’t find you.”

“I think we’ve missed each other, my dear,” Aziraphale said, breathless from both the embrace and the corset tight about Jane’s waist.

Crowley didn’t release him the way Aziraphale expected, instead his forehead fell to the angel’s shoulder and he took a shuddering breath. “I thought you were dead. You had no idea. I thought you were _dead._ ”

“I don’t die that easy,” Aziraphale said with a laugh, trying to break the tense emotion between them.

Crowley pulled back and looked at him, eyes full of grief.

Aziraphale took a risk and stood on his tiptoes and kissed the demon. Crowley gasped against his mouth and Aziraphale almost pulled back to apologize, but Crowley’s hands came up and clutched him tighter.

It was the first time they had kissed after being Called. Their corporations had fucked, and kissed, and cuddled throughout history, but always before the Calling. But being Called didn’t erase the memories of how their bodies fit together, warm and _right_.

They made love on the grass, all desperate hands and gasping mouths, and when Aziraphale found himself pregnant, they got married.

After their wedding, they laid curled together in a soft bed in one of the bedrooms of Anthony’s family’s estate.

“I don’t think I appreciated how strange it is to be pregnant,” Aziraphale announced, rubbing at a ghostly sensation in his belly. He was barely showing since the wedding had been a bit of a rush.

“I told you!” Crowley cried.

Aziraphale nodded, secretly thinking that it was also nice. To hold a part of someone he loved inside him.

“I love you,” he said. It was against his better judgment but he said it anyway. Crowley looked at him blankly. “It is very absurd and I am aware it’s very absurd, given our entire situation, but I love you.”

Crowley reached out and pushed a stray piece of brown hair behind Aziraphale’s ear. “I’ve loved you since you tried to kill me Babylon.”

Aziraphale’s heart skipped and he could hear his pulse echoing in his ears.

Later that year he gave birth to a baby girl named Liza. They were careful to avoid more children after that. Content to be in love, go on their missions, and spend time with their little girl.

They were happy but as always, life went far too quickly and death came far too soon. Aziraphale didn’t know how much longer he could exist like this, a skipping stone touching down every century and wishing it could float.

**

In the year 2000, Aziraphale is recalled to heaven before his corporation dies. He wonders what happens to the body when something like that happens.

Gabriel stands before him in a corporation Aziraphale has never seen before. The archangel is ridiculously handsome and all Aziraphale can think is _of course the pompous ass would make himself a handsome corporation._  “What do you think?” the Gabriel asks, gesturing around his body.

Aziraphale’s metaphysical energy would gape if it had a mouth.

“We’ve solved the problem of physical decomposition. You’re getting a permanent body!”

And with a clap of his hands, Aziraphale is sent back to Earth, gasping in new lungs. Lungs that didn’t hurt the way the old heaven-made corporations did.

He pats himself down, soft middle, white hands, and looks around. He is standing in a bookshop that smells amazing, like the library his last corporation had worked at. Gabriel’s voice echoes in his head, _You will stay here for the foreseeable future._

And Aziraphale is ok with that.

What Aziraphale is not ok with is the distinct lack of Crowley. He tries to seek out Kris—Crowley’s last corporeal form—but cannot find her.

Aziraphale has no idea when Crowley will be Called. He doesn’t even know if they’ll be able to find each other the same way they always had. Would this heaven-made body interfere with the way he had always used his powers?

So Aziraphale keeps his proverbial antenna at the ready, hoping to detect any signs of the demon as he goes about his missions. He finds he likes this new heaven-made form even more than the human-made ones. He doesn’t feel pain in the same way. He doesn’t have to deal with the everyday requirements of being human, nail clipping, haircuts, brushing teeth. He just exists and it is, in equal parts, boring, and delightful.

Two years into his assignment, he’s still shocked that his corporation has survived. Heaven had said they worked out the bugs but he hadn't entirely believed them.

Most of his days are spent puttering around his bookstore, finding new things to read, and tracking down the occasional book he remembers from previous corporations. He is amassing quite the collection.

It is a balmy Tuesday in May when the door to his shop slams open. He turns to greet the customer and drops the book in his hands.

Clad all in black, a skinny man wearing sunglasses stands on the entryway carpet, chest heaving. “Aziraphale?” the man demands.

“Crowley?” he breathes, hope breaking in his chest.

Crowley rushes to him. “Is this it? Did heaven give you a body?”

Aziraphale nods, shock stealing his voice.

“Hell figured it out too. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they stole the intel from Heaven. I wish they’d consulted me on the design. I feel a bit bony,” he says, wiggling his shoulders and arms.

Aziraphale blinks. “Well, yes. This is _it_ I suppose. Me, the body. However, you want to look at it.”

“You look very soft,” Crowley says with a mischievous grin before grasping at Aziraphale’s waist.

“I feel very soft,” Aziraphale admits.

“I like it,” Crowley declares before releasing him and spinning around, taking in the bookshop.

“I am _thrilled_ to finally have an existence. No more of this blinking in and out. Coming to in compromising positions. We can finally live in the world!”

Aziraphale smiles sadly. He had liked the humanity of it all. Discovering different lives. But he supposes Crowley is right. It would be nice to feel grounded. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“I’m glad I never have to be pregnant again. That always felt weird.”

Aziraphale shakes his head fondly. “I’m glad that only happened to me twice.”

“Yeah! Why was it always me? Wait—twice? You were only pregnant once,” Crowley says, stopping his nonstop motion throughout the bookshop.

Aziraphale blushes. “Oh, well, erm, I had husbands other than you, you know.”

Crowley makes a little whining noise in the back of his throat. “I don’t like that very much.”

“It never has to happen again, my dear,” Aziraphale points out and that makes Crowley smile, all sharp teeth.

Pivoting, Crowley looks out the window. “Do you think we can still get drunk?”

Aziraphale crosses the room to stand next to him. “We can. I’ve been here for a year you know.”

“A year?” Crowley repeats incredulously. “So the new bodies really work, huh?”

“As far as I know,” Aziraphale says, wringing his hands. “I’ve missed you.”

“It’s only been a century,” Crowley says dismissively even as the sharp lines of his new face soften.

“It felt much longer,” Aziraphale says quietly, looking away.

“That’s how I felt in the fourteenth century. Consider this revenge for abandoning me,” Crowley says, slinking up to him.

“I didn’t even like you in the fourteenth century,” Aziraphale points out.

Crowley’s hands wrap around his hips as he tucked his head against Aziraphale’s neck, snuffling. “I liked _you_.”

Aziraphale’s whole face turns red before Crowley kisses him softly. In this heaven-made body, all his nerves sing, everything sharper and just _more_. Crowley must feel similarly because he whimpers and slips his tongue into Aziraphale’s mouth.

The demon stills and then groans in irritation as he pulls back. “I’ve just got my assignment,” he says, voice full of frustration.

Aziraphale fiddles with the hem of his jumper in an effort to calm himself. “It’s to be expected. You were just sent down weren’t you?”

“I was hoping to have a bit of time to _adjust_ ,” Crowley says with a leer.

Aziraphale slaps him in the chest and scoffs at his behavior. “Not that I should encourage you but I will say that the sooner you leave, the sooner you can come back. And we can...adjust.”

“Fine. I’m off to wreak some havoc. I’ll be back tonight and take you to dinner?” Crowley says, already backing out of the shop.

“I can pencil you in,” Aziraphale replies.

“See you soon, angel,” Crowley says with a wink before he disappears.

Aziraphale turns back to his books and smiles. He feels for a moment as if he is floating.

 

**Author's Note:**

> ok so crowley and aziraphale are reincarnated several times (basically a gazillion) and are sometimes in women's bodies but use male pronouns. there are also instances of pregnancy while in the female bodies so im sorry if that squicks you. its not really mpreg so i didn't tag it?


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